The Music of Our Lives
by Taylin
Summary: This is kinda hard to explain, but here goes. This is a songfic, sort of. Actually, it's going to be a lot of different songs that will eventually make up one story. Each chapter will be a different song, but the same plot. Confusing, I know. Just read!


A/N:  This is what happens when you have no life and you spend all your time at home, listening to music that reminds you of Mark and Roger. I've come up with quite a collection now, and have recently started to piece together the songs so that they form a plot. And that's what this is. A songfic…a rather long songfic. It's kind of weird, and I don't know if it's going to work or not. So let me know what you think of it, ok? Oh, and I think it's going to be *AU* but I haven't decided yet. 

Disclaimer: The boys and their friends belong to the Jonathan Larson estate. And the song is "Always" by Anthony Rapp. But who knows…maybe I'll give songwriting another shot in a future chapter.  

* * *

_I'm up here on my own again, I'm always on my own._

_They don't know anything at all, they see just what they want._

_Can't they see I'm not really here? I'm back there with you._

He's left before. I know this time is no different than the time before this, and the time before that. Brooklyn, Long Island, Santa Fe…it makes no difference. He's left me before, and he's always come back. I'm sure he'll be back this time too.

I'm alone in the loft again. Though the loneliness is nothing new to me. Even when Roger's here it's like I'm alone. For two years he abandoned our friendship, and every other one of his friendships, in favor of a drug. Heroin. For two years it was his only friend, and his only life.

He spent 6 months in withdrawal. We couldn't afford rehab so it was me who had to take care of him. It was me who held his hand and cleaned up the vomit, me who stayed up with him at night to make sure he didn't go out to get high again. I took care of him for those six months, I gave up my life for him. Much like he gave up his life for heroin. I guess I can understand that. He loved heroin, he needed it. And I love him.

I never told anyone about my secret obsession…about all the hours I spent awake at night just watching him sleep, watching his chest rise and fall, or about the way I would look at him and Mimi together, wishing it could be me he held to his chest instead of some beautiful young girl. I never told him that I loved him, and I never expected him to love me back. And he didn't. He loved Katie, he loved April, and now Mimi. But never me. And he never will love me, I've come to accept that.

I won't pretend it doesn't hurt though, when I see him and Mimi together. And I won't pretend not to be bitter at the fact that I never even got so much as a thank you from him after taking care of him for half a year. I'm not expecting an "I love you," or "Mark, you're the best thing that's ever happened to me." Just a simple thank you.

But, like I said, Roger doesn't seem to notice me much anymore. If it's not drugs or withdrawal, it's something. And in this case it happens to be the beautiful girl who lives in the apartment below us: Mimi. I'm glad that he found someone he truly loves, I really am. I want Roger to be happy. And if that person can't be me, I'm glad that it's someone like Mimi – caring, sweet, vivacious, and fun. 

I just wish that there was room for the both of us in Roger's life. Apparently though, there isn't. Because as soon as Mimi stepped into the picture I was forgotten. And left alone, as always.

But that's ok, I know he'll be back. And until he is, my dreams will be with him, in Santa Fe.

_Flying away, wish I could say you would be there tomorrow and always_

_Just have to go, wish I could know you would always remember me now and always._

It's been two months since Roger drove away that day in the ratty old car he bought when he sold his guitar. Unlike all the other times he's left, he hasn't called or tried to write me once. He's written to everyone else.

Maureen and Joanne, Collins, and even Benny, who he hates, have received postcards. He even called Collins a few times and talked to him briefly. But never once me. Sometimes I wonder if he's forgotten about me altogether, or just doesn't care.

I haven't seen Mimi since right after the argument she had with Roger. And to tell you the truth, I'm getting worried about her. We tried to get her to go to rehab, Benny even offered to pay the bills. But she refused.

The apartment she used to have right below us is now empty. Benny's wife, Allison, forced Benny to evict her when she found out about the affair the two were having. 

I wonder sometimes if she's still alive. And I know what a horrible thing this is to say, but when I think of how she might not even be alive anymore, I can't seem to feel any sort of loss at all. Sometimes a vague melancholy, but that's it.

But, then again, I really don't feel much of anything anymore. Since Roger left, my camera has been my only friend and the only one I ever talk to. Pathetic really. My sole friend is an inanimate object…just a scrap of metal that hardly even works anymore.

And even though there's nothing really to film, I film everything. At night I sneak into Roger's room – even though I really don't need to sneak anymore – and I sit on his bed, set the camera on the tripod, and film for hours. I pour my heart out to that blinking red light, I cry the tears I can never manage to shed around anyone else. I cry for my best friend…the best friend who doesn't seem to acknowledge my existence anymore, and the best friend I haven't even heard from in two months. And I cry because he's _just_ my best friend. And will never be anything more.

_Turning my face away again, I'm always turned away,_

_Wanting someone to talk it out, without you as always._

I go through reel after reel of film a day. I don't know why I save them, they're all the same. Me crying my heart out for the man I can never have. The man I'm too chickenshit to tell that I love him.

I regret not telling him now. I haven't heard a word from him on over 4 months, and I'm beginning to wonder if I ever will. Does he remember the best friend he left behind? The girlfriend? All of the other friends he just abandoned?

That's how I feel. Abandoned. And that's what everyone says I'm doing to the world. I guess they're right. I turn my face away because I can't deal with not having Roger to talk to - to laugh and joke with, to cry to and hold anymore. I deal with it my abandonment by abandoning everyone else.

He called me a hypocrite. Right before he left, it was one of the last things he said to me. Right before "I'll call."

Sure, I'm the hypocrite.

He accused me of hiding behind my camera, behind my work. I sometimes find myself questioning if that's true, but then I always have to remind myself that it's the only thing I have. My film, my camera, and my work. It's not like I have any real friends, or, say a boyfriend to go home to every night.

I still find myself in Roger's room, commiserating to my camera for most hours of the day. I've even taken to sleeping in his bed. The sheets still hold his unique smell, and that scent is the only reminder I have of Roger's presence anymore.

Sometimes, late at night I even let myself cry into his pillow, pretending that it's him and that he's holding me and comforting me, just like he used to.

I don't know if he's ever coming back, and I know it's time that I should forget about this crazy obsession with the man I know I can never have. I'm not sure if I even have his friendship anymore, let alone his love.

But as hard as I try, I just can't forget. It's like trying to just forget about 13 years of your life…it can't be done. I've given up hope long ago that Roger could ever love me like I love him. And now I'm starting to give up on hoping that he'll ever return the friendship I so long to have with him again.

The only real friendship I have anymore is with my camera, and the endless amount of film I go through pouring my heart out to it. It's silly, I know. But my camera has always been like a sort of diary for me. A release for all the tension and stress, and now heartache that fills my every waking moment. I tell my camera the things I could never say to his face.

And I guess maybe that's why I keep all the film that I do. Maybe it's because, in my heart, I know that my camera is the way to tell him the words I've held in my heart for years.

_Flying away, wish I could say you would be there tomorrow and always_

_Just have to go, wish I could know you would always remember me now and always._

* * *

A/N: The next chapter will be another song. Same plot. And the boys' relationship will evolve. Something to look forward to ;) Oh, and by the way, if anyone can think of any songs that would be good for Roger's coming home from Santa Fe, please let me know (like, in a review) because I'm kind of at a loss for the next chapter.


End file.
